Portuguese by birth, Edgar Martins grew up in Macau (China), where he published his first novel entitled 'Mãe, deixa-me fazer o pino'. In 1996 he moved to the UK, where he later completed an MA in...
In reflecting on the complexity of the negotiations between estranged lives and de-territorialised worlds, one might wonder if the generic city is synonymous with the contemporary airport.
Immured in temporality and suffering from a sense of historical discontinuity, the airport is the elementary expression of abstract space. It renders everyone weightless. It is the space of the uprooted and, as if to confirm the term terrain vague, in my images sky and ground collide, overlap and blur. The cloudy ambiguity of these images pulls us into a deep absence, a sliding, fleeting and powerful somewhere, where everything is indeterminate and difficult to decode, with only the lights and airport hieroglyphics to orientate us. The juxtaposition of sign and shape echoes the overlapping of time and space, disturbing language and meaning itself.